


Interlude: The Wolf of Azul

by DarkShadeless



Series: Just a step to the left [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Jedi and Sith, Moral Ambiguity, Poetry, and nosy Jedi, includes, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: Master Gnost-Dural lets his eyes wander over the text carefully, “This is more than just a story, isn’t it?”
Series: Just a step to the left [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1285139
Comments: 17
Kudos: 35





	Interlude: The Wolf of Azul

**Author's Note:**

> This is incredibly self-indulgent world building, brought on by the fact that there’s absolutely no info on Master Altax, who casually hangs out with Chamma and Bastilla Shan as if he damn well belongs.  
> Also, one thing I haven't had cause to consider quite this in-depth before: POEMS ARE FUCKING HARD.  
> XD this has been a psa. Thank you very much.
> 
> Omg, I can't believe I finally finished this. Go me :D

The text crops up in the wake of his search to bring light into the shadows of the riddle his Grandmaster has put before him. Bending the Archive consoles to provide _every_ bit of information connected to certain words leaves him with a veritable flood. Thankfully Master Gnost-Dural has experience in sifting the corusca gems from… still valuable but presently less useful things.

It’s more than just practice. Even as an initiate, so long ago, he had an aptitude for this sort of work. The Force brushed past him in a gentle current, leading him to find many a secret and even more trouble. He doesn't lean toward great shows of power but he would claim without pride that few can hold their own against him in this arena.

And so, when he touches upon something that seems of no immediate value but _important_ somehow, he puts it aside to peruse it at a later date.

‘Later’ doesn’t come around for quite some time. When Gnost-Dural picks up his personal pad to review postponed projects and avenues of investigation that tend to crop up during his work one night he has all but forgotten about it. There it is, sitting between a paper on crop management and a summary of the political situation in Hutt space, innocent as you please.

Compared to the other options open to him it promises to be rather light reading.

**_The Wolf of Azul_ ** _(author unconfirmed), full version_

Poetry, by the look of it. At some point it must have made it into the lecture circuit, a reference points toward an essay or two analysing the text.

Master Gnost-Dural forgoes them for now. Such works usually include a summary of the high points and he would rather not spoil his reading experience. The introduction attached alone is telling enough.

_On ‘The Wolf of Azul’_

_Sadly the author has remained unidentified to this day. Though the dedication is signed, historians have been unable to locate the name in the archives of the Order._

_Please be advised that this work has been classified unsuitable for impressionable minds and treat its distribution accordingly._

Perhaps not as light a read as he expected. ‘ _Well. I suppose I can take a night off every now and again.’_ He does enjoy a good philosophical conundrum. _  
_

With that thought Gnost-Dural refills his teakettle and settles in for the long haul.

* * *

**_The Wolf of Azul_ **

_Once in the spring between wood and shore_

_A weary wand’rer found an open door_

_To rest his feet, lay down his head_

_And put his tired self to bed_

_He came from far and yonder still_

_Sent past the stars by higher will_

_A knight, a shining light_

_In the darkness of this night_

_For dark the night indeed would grow_

_And his hosts, they surely know_

_They douse the candles, close the hearth_

_All falling still upon the earth_

_Even the sheep within their pen_

_Soon the time will come again_

_That evil walks among the trees_

_Hungry for the first life it sees_

_And the second and the third_

_None know a wolf like the shivering herd_

_But there is hope, tonight_

_Tonight, their village holds a light_

_A light it didn’t hold before_

_So when the wolf comes to their door_

_They rouse the wand’rer from his sleep_

_For in safety he may keep_

_What otherwise would surely die_

_To pay a price they can’t deny_

_“Aye”, the wand’rer tells them, though with care,_

_“Face your wolf, that I shall dare,_

_But know, for all I am a knight,_

_It is not in my heart to fight._

_From battle springs nothing but pain_

_Truly, it is to no one’s gain._

_All taste of war is lost to me,_

_It’s none but man-made misery._

_Blood shan’t be shed, not by my hand,_

_There’s harm enough throughout the land.”_

_Nonetheless, he leaves behind_

_What safety within walls he’d find_

_He braves the night, true to his word_

_With heart and hope but without sword_

_To seek what others flee in fear_

_His soul at peace, hard-won and dear_

_Before his light_

_The shadows shrink aside_

_All but the one of darkest hide_

_The wolf, it greets him with a grin_

_Fur as black as pitch and sin_

_Red besides, in claw and tooth_

_It hardly is a sight to soothe_

_“Begone, you’ll find no victims here,”_

_He tells the monster loud and clear_

_His conviction shining bright_

_“Is that true, my little knight?”_

_With cunning in its yellow eyes_

_It looks at him in mild surprise_

_“And who will stop my chase tonight?_

_You have no weapon at your side.”_

_“I come to you only in peace_

_And ask but that your hunt you’ll cease_

_To quench your hunger without loss_

_For those who have to bear the cross_

_Of what you’d wreak upon this town_

_If none step up to slow you down.”_

_“You think I’ll stop just at your word?_

_Please, good man, don’t be absurd._

_They know what tribute they must pay_

_It’s their own fault we’re here today._

_They claimed what is mine_

_While it is that way_

_For every day_

_Three of them I’ll slay_

_Young or old, all must cleave to me_

_And without teeth you'll be no manner of shield, you'll see._

_Bark alone won’t keep me away._

_I am a beast of carnage, I am a child of death_

_And my retribution will be their final breath._

_Their greed has stolen from me_

_What wasn’t theirs to take_

_And none will ever dare_

_To make the same mistake._

_I’ll take my toll now from this cattle_

_Either you yield or we will battle.”_

_“Yield I won’t,” the knight holds fast,_

_“Even if this day shall be my last._

_If wrong was done to you,_

_surely we’ll find a way_

_To restore balance here_

_without more blood to pay._

_Will you not let this matter lie?_

_He who lives by the sword, upon it he’ll die._ _”_

_In a flash of teeth_

_The creature barks a laugh_

_And shakes the very ground beneath_

_As if to split it half_

_“Yet those who don’t might still feel its bite_

_For want of a shield they still might fight_

_And the sheep may suffer and the wolves may thrive,_

_So tell me, which is more noble?_

_To refuse the sword on account of violence_

_Or to take it, to kill and to die?_

_Blood, you’ll find, is the only price_

_And come dawn they’ll have paid it thrice.”_

_Thus spoken, with a mighty leap_

_The wolf sets past toward the sheep_

_Who cower frightful in their hutch_

_Using each other for a crutch_

_Well they know he’ll take but three_

_How close the wish ‘But please not me’?_

_Such starts a race, ‘gainst time and foe_

_So that this chase won’t end in woe_

_The knight he does his level best_

_For a heart beats in his chest_

_That loves each creature, great and small_

_And sees the wonder in them all_

_But the wolf is swift and strong_

_For each life saved, there’s one done wrong_

_By dawn the ground is stained in red_

_And at his feet, three sheep lie dead._

_The loss, it does cut deep_

_It is a price that seems too steep_

_For peace of mind and a glad heart_

_And this is how all doubt must start_

_With a monster, all in black,_

_Whispering, “I will be back.”_

_Like the shadows of the night_

_That flee the sun’s merciful light_

_So too the wolf, it takes its leave_

_While in its wake the people grieve_

_The day is but a short respite_

_Above them looms the monster's bite_

_A break, the wait less hope than fear_

_Just enough time to grasp what’s dear_

_To feel how much is left to lose_

_And perhaps what one may choose_

_To leave behind with their own ken_

_While others search the creature’s den_

_The knight, still wearied without rest_

_At first thinks they must be in jest_

_For surely none of them could sleep_

_And leave three lives for the wolf to keep_

_“Dear knight, you have to understand,_

_Long has that beast walked on this land._

_It plagues us soon for a full season_

_Without sense and without reason_

_Its power's great, we cannot win_

_Unless we first may wear it thin_

_And at long last we’ve hatched a plot_

_To find its home and stem this rot._

_But every time it comes to call_

_Three of our sheep sadly must fall_

_To its sharp teeth, weather its might_

_For us to see another night.”_

_And so they pick_

_And so they chose_

_Who has come dusk their life to lose_

_It truly is a gruesome sight_

_Though their fears may well prove right_

_Still he resolves to keep his way_

_And not let any beast hold sway_

_Over the oath he made himself_

_To put his sword upon a shelf_

_To never take it up once more_

_No matter what waits at the door_

_A shield will have to be_

_What keeps them save, under lock and key_

_But days go by and night by night_

_The wolf proves sly enough to fight_

_More than a match with one lone knight_

_And day by day and night by night_

_The shadows grow where once was light._

_The doubt, it clings, a strangling vine_

_Indeed, where do you draw the line?_

_Faced with one so cruel_

_As to evade a rightful duel_

_And slay whichever they can reach_

_Unheeding of taboos they breach_

_Before long, his light grows dim_

_Our knight, he cleaves, though he is grim_

_When he unearths a sword at last_

_From his own pack and distant past_

_The sheep are gone, ewe to ram_

_Tonight he’ll shield a different lamb_

_He vows to silent stone_

_For all the wrongs he must atone_

_“I won’t give up what’s in my care_

_Not while there’s more that I may dare.”_

_They meet upon the bloodied ground_

_The wolf and our teething hound_

_Once more for what he so reviles_

_With glowing eyes the monster smiles_

_“Has it already gone so far_

_That you would like a proper spar?”_

_Anger roaring in his breast_

_The knight replies, “I’ll see you rest_

_With all souls whom you took before_

_And terror you will bring no more.”_

_A baying howl, it rends the air_

_And raises any listener's hair_

_“Oh, little knight, are you so sure_

_That such a test you can endure?_

_With toothless puppies I may play_

_But if you bite me, you will pay.”_

_They lock in battle, hand to maw_

_Sword to tooth and shield to claw_

_For a while the knight holds fast_

_But his strength, it does not last_

_The wolf has fought many a year_

_And stolen much that once was dear_

_Where our wand’rer stayed his hand_

_Searching for peace upon the land_

_Dawn sees him beaten, raw with loss_

_The wolf, it scoffs, “Now don’t be cross._

_I won, for all your toils,_

_And to the victor go the spoils.”_

_With his last strength the knight breathes “No,_

_I beg you please, just let her go._

_Take me for her, in trade_

_And let the debt be paid.”_

_Behind him shakes the last of three_

_In dawn’s first rays, for all to see_

_A girl, no more than nine,_

_With the bad luck to draw the sign_

_That sealed her fate_

_All defence is now too late_

_With one last look the wolf steps past_

_To the knight’s horror, deep and vast_

_It seems no mercy is to be_

_“You aren’t theirs, you’re not for me.”_

_From then on out the race becomes more fraught than ever_

_Against the beast as foul as clever_

_It wins the day, evades the trap_

_Nothing quite seems to close the gap_

_The knight, he gains but scorn_

_For efforts made at every morn’_

_“Will alone no master makes,_

_Experience is what it takes._

_The first you have, I'll give you that,_

_Compared to me you're still a brat.”_

_He aches too much to find retort_

_His sharpening teeth glint in the sun_

_The wolf, it barely spares a snort_

_“Mayhap you'll learn, before we're done.”_

_That time is not so far away_

_The village dwindles every day_

_With every soul it runs to ground_

_And still its den hasn’t been found_

_The wand’rer's light’s grown rather dark_

_Each life that's lost, it kills a spark_

_Before our warrior truly knows_

_The flock, frightfully small it grows_

_Until one morning bright and clear_

_There's none but three more souls to steer_

_Just one more night, just one more dawn_

_‘til all he should protect is gone_

_With that harsh thought he turns to face_

_The three that hold this final place_

_The hunters they kept back for last_

_Even if hope has long since past_

_“Hear me,_

_If safety is outside our reach_

_At least a lesson let us teach_

_The one who'd have us for a feast!_

_No more shall press this glutted beast_

_From these fair lands with its dark powers._

_I say, vengeance shall be ours.”_

_Instead of waiting for the end_

_Mourning what none of them can mend_

_They set their sight upon the wood_

_So their last day may do some good._

_Into the trees they make their way_

_“Be cautious” so the hunters say_

_“We've searched many an hour_

_On every trail, our luck was sour._

_If to find we are,_ _that which we seek_

_Over rough and smooth, far past the creek,_

_A single day may bring no gain_

_We might well meet the wolf inside its own domain.”_

_But try they must, there’s little choice_

_Than to ignore what fear they voice_

_Come dusk they haven't reached their goal_

_And they press on for distance whole_

_The miles pass by, without a trace_

_The wolf it does not show its face_

_Mayhap it’s past inside the village,_

_Searching the ruins for more pillage._

_They cross the forest easily, until the moon stands high_

_To where no bird flies free against the open sky._

_The den it is a darkened pit_

_‘tween roots and boulders old_

_They grasp their courage and their wit_

_where terror takes its hold._

_“We must be quiet now, it might not yet be here.”_

_“Is that what you expect? You do reek so of fear.”_

_From darkness cold it peels away_

_It’s pelt one with the night_

_“I see the bold, they found today,_

_The will to test my might.”_

_“You fiend,” hisses the knight, incensed,_

_His every muscle coiled and tensed_

_“You murder and you maim,_

_I'll see that no more lives you claim!_

_The innocent shan't fear your touch,_

_You have done more than just too much!”_

_“The innocent you say, my dear,_

_Yet i see none but murderers here._

_The three you brought, those who yet stand_

_You think them spared by fortune’s hand,_

_That luck kept them from harm?_

_Say, does my cub's fur keep you warm?”_

_Silence, it falls heavily_

_With guidance, clear our knight can see_

_His hunter’s hems, they are quite dark_

_Even in starlight they’re too stark_

_Against handwoven linens fine_

_“So shall I take that which is mine?”_

_Slowly the wolf, it prowls the edge_

_‘tween clearing and the boulder’s ledge_

_“I will admit the wait was long_

_To play this merry dance and song_

_Your ruthlessness runs deep_

_Even your child, to save you sleep?_

_Your brother, father and your wife?_

_Still, each of you owe me a life_

_And none but yours would ever do_

_Not that that had you going through._

_Had you come, right from the start,_

_Stepped up to play your gruesome part_

_Perhaps my hunger might be sated_

_Instead, you three, you saw me baited_

_But that you knew_

_And still you threw_

_Away their lives, spent them like coin_

_So that the lost you wouldn’t join._

_Isn’t that true?”_

_The hunters back away as one_

_Yet the answer, that has none_

_The oldest, his beard grey and rough_

_Finally he says, “The winter, it was tough_

_We had to hunt the marsh with nothing but a snare_

_The wind upon that land, it lays your flesh right bare._

_We didn’t do no wrong! ‘twas just a monster small!_

_Better, aye, if never it grows tall?”_

_It takes the knight a beat_

_To know with whom he pleads_

_It’s not the beast that, neat,_

_Sits down among the weeds._

_The wolf, it chuckles low_

_While all around the shadows grow_

_“Tell me, was it righteous, was it just_

_To shield the lie they built_

_From bones on blood and rust?”_

_The youngest hunter shudders, her face as white as milk,_

_“Don’t talk like that to us! We aren’t of your ilk._

_We tried to buy the time, so we could save the rest_

_We didn’t want- we didn’t mean- They died at your behest!”_

_The middle one alone, his silence does he keep_

_The only thing he whispers, “It should have been but sheep.”_

_The wand’rer’s heavy heart, the weighted words they drown_

_And to his knees he sinks without a single sound_

_All death, all loss, all pain_

_For none but to their gain?_

_The whole misbegotten trial_

_To keep a secret vile?_

_Since first he faced the dread_

_He has felt so bereft_

_As if hung by a thread_

_That snaps_

_Paints all in red_

_When he returns to waking mind_

_The floor in bodies it is lined_

_Hacked apart without a care_

_The wolf, it huffs, “Well, here I swear,_

_This is not how I saw this end_

_But I shan’t be upset, my friend._

_They did you wrong as they did me_

_Now they are dead. So shall it be.”_

_No thought, no pause, the slightest turn_

_And too the beast, it feels the burn_

_Of a knight’s sword, free from its sheath_

_There barely is the time to breathe_

_Before the blade sinks into fur_

_A wound it can’t escape, the cur_

_Yet bloodied all it does is purr_

_“Oh my and what big teeth you have the better to bite me with_

_I almost claimed the strength of knights was little but a myth_

_My feral dog, I dare to say, you’ve learned your lesson well_

_Who would have thought your gentle snout one day a wolf might fell?_

_But then again, perhaps a hound is not quite what you are._

_You have come such a ways and could indeed go far.”_

_It gives its wound a lick_

_Barely enough to graze the nick_

_“My quarrel has come to an end,_

_There’s nothing left here to contend._

_You’ve been a decent foe,_

_I shan’t deny you that_

_But my time has come to go,_

_To finish our chat._

_Until again we meet,_

_I’m sure it will be sweet.”_

_With parting words it darts away_

_Off toward the trees_

_A nightmare come and gone_

_Quick as a fleeting breeze_

_The knight among the wreckage of what he wrought today_

_Alone still stands, blood on his hands_

_But is he hunter, is he prey?_

_Rage burns him hot and cold_

_He cannot bear to fold_

_To turn away and leave_

_Before he gains what he must achieve_

_Driven by this mad desire_

_He follows right into the briar_

_Who made the catch? Who won the chase?_

_There’s none who knows, too great their pace_

_All falls to ruin in their wake_

_So stay away for your own sake_

_Beware, my child,_

_The shadowed wild_

_Of Azul’s shore_

_No telling what the moon may lead to knock upon your door._

* * *

‘ _Hm. I can see what put the archivist into such a tizzy._ ’

An interesting take on a traditional theme. Not quite as bad as all that, to Master Gnost-Dural’s own eyes. Not suitable for crechelings, perhaps, but initiates ready for advanced lessons should enjoy it well enough, for all that the topic was a dark one that invites discussion.

No wonder Master Gavon had incorporated it into his literature classes once upon a time.

Gnost-Dural is halfway to considering whether he should skim the essays attached when he gets to the dedication.

_Face your demons, my friend. You can't outrun them._

_\- Tir_

* * *

Even spurred by his realization, it takes a while before Gnost-Dural makes his way down into the bowels of the archives this time. The matter isn’t that pressing even if it is… enlightening in certain ways.

The Noetikon lights up at Gnost-Dural’s touch as readily as ever.

Its inhabitants, however, look less than welcoming. He is greeted by a deep frown courtesy of Master Shan. “You _are_ making a habit of this. What is it this time?”

Such a spirited personage. They really should bring the general populace into contact with the imprints of venerable masters of old more often. Time and retelling has such a habit of washing them clean not only of flaws but of personality as well. A shame.

If the cast of his thoughts were lighter Gnost-Dural may chuckle at the vivid image of how certain of his colleagues would take such a meeting with those they revere.

As it is, his attention strays. The master that always seems to keep a careful step behind his two compatriots has done so once more. So unassuming, so quiet… who would have thought. “I have a question for Master Altax, if I may.”

The man’s brow furrows but he stepped closer readily enough. “Of course. What may I help you with? Has something else come up?”

“Not quite. It’s a personal matter you could say.”

He has their undivided attention now, without question. Master Gnost-Dural lets his eyes fall to his data-pad and wander carefully over the text still displayed there, less to read and more to have something to focus on. “In my research of the information you provided me, I have stumbled across something that,” words failed him. Master Altax, as he is here today is but a projection but holocron guardians are as close to the original as they can be. If he felt something about this matter in life, the imprint he had left behind might well too. At long last, Gnost-Dural tips the screen towards them, “This is more than just a story, isn’t it?”

He can pinpoint the moment Altax realizes what he has found. His serene countenance takes on the particular cast of a master locking down an emotion they don’t wish to show.

Bowing his head slightly, the Kel'Dor thrums an apologetic subharmonic.

The object of his study breathes a weak laugh. “Of all things.” Absently he reaches out, as if to grasp the pad, despite the fact that he is no more corporeal than a ray of sunlight.

“Altax.” Gnost-Dural had thought he had earned himself Master Shan’s rightful disapproval with his recent quest. Judging by how sudden and jarring the _command_ radiating from her every syllable is, he was wrong. “Do _not_.”

Fingers hovering over the screen he cannot touch, regardless of intention, the master in question seems to make an effort to compose himself. The distraction slides off him by inches.

Once he is firmly rooted in the now, he huffs, mouth twisting unhappily. “I’m a Force impression, Shan. What am I going to do? Fall? I do think I’m past that.”

His colleague does not seem to agree with him, which in turn prompts Gnost-Dural to incorporate that disturbing possibility into his worldview. Force have mercy. Surely not.

“He felled you once.”

“He’s _dead_.”

“His poison is very much alive in you.” What could have been the worst condemnation at Bastila’s hand is tempered by a note of concern that makes the whole matter even worse to watch, makes it more real than it would have otherwise been. “Isn’t it?”

Altax averts his eyes, clenching his outstretched fingers helplessly into a fist.

After a few moments their third interrupts the awkward stand-off with a delicate cough. “I’m sure he knows to be cautious, my friend.” Master Chamma glances at their audience and quite suddenly Gnost-Dural feels as if he is witnessing something he shouldn’t be. As if he is… intruding.

Bastila appears less than convinced of the veracity of that statement. Her unvarnished doubt is the last straw for the one at the center of their disagreement. Master Altax straightens, steel in his voice. “Bastila. No matter what Tir meant to me once upon a time, I’ll thank you to remember that I am just as capable of resisting the Dark Side as you are, _if not more_.”

Something about that statement hits home. Master Shan grows perfectly still.

Before Master Gnost-Dural can quite process the byplay something happens that never has before: Her projection abruptly dissolves into stray sparks of light, leaving only two holocron guardians behind.

Not a moment later Chamma follows her with a sigh.

_‘My goodness. I knew they were very independent entities but they truly are individuals aren’t they?’_

No matter what they were recorded for, no matter that their collective knowledge indexes the information they guard, they are still separate enough to stand apart like this. Fascinating.

As if to contradict Gnost-Dural’s thoughts, Master Altax echoes his colleague wearily. His sigh is loud in the empty halls of the archive. “My apologies. I suspect I speak for all of us when I say you shouldn’t have had to witness this.”

The Archivist cocks his head thoughtfully. “Are such disagreements common place, then?”

“No. Of course not.” Altax’ conviction starts ironclad but toward the end it falters a little, “Well, perhaps they are less rare than I would like.”

“Oh?”

The lilting, unassuming inquiry chases some of the tiredness off the master’s face to be replaced by amusement. “Your curiosity will get you in trouble one day.”

It already has and often but there’s no need to put too fine a point on that. “There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.”

The well-worn mantra makes Altax laugh. “So they say. May I?” When Gnost-Dural offers him the pad this time he allows himself to close the distance and trace the swirls of the handwritten signature. A smile finds its way onto his face, though it is small and bittersweet. “Thank you. It has been some time since I last saw this.”

Unsurprising, considering master Shan’s reaction and the topic in question. “I wasn’t sure you’d appreciate me bringing it up.”

“I do.” Altax favors him with a guarded look. “I’m afraid my fellows don’t quite understand. They never have and I’m not sure they can. In their own way they were both pressed into a Fall and had to fight what entrapped them bitterly to return.”

Thinking back upon the text, Gnost-Dural can’t help but note, “And you weren’t? You didn’t?”

The venerable master, guardian of their most perilous knowledge looks up, right at him and for once the Kel Dor, who has outlived so many of those he shared life’s lessons with feels young. Small.

“I chose my fate. Make no mistake. When I fell I did so because I wanted to. I wanted power and I did not care where it came from. I wanted someone to blame and so I pursued what I shouldn't have. I swallowed darkness whole and it me, in turn.” The words chill Gnost-Dural, though it’s less the frank admission than the way it is made. The marks of inner struggle and distress he associates with those who have come close enough to the abyss to feel it reaching back are absent and so is the enlightenment of inner peace that would put one above such an experience. The recounting is even, matter of fact.

“You are remarkably at ease with that.”

Altax breathes a joyless chuckle. “It is something I have faced long ago.” He gives Gnost-Dural a long look, which does nothing to calm his rising disquiet. “I regret little but that others suffered harm at my hand and that isn’t a fact my colleagues find easy to accept. To this day who they became when the Dark took a hold of them haunts them. They will tell you I was pressured, trapped in a situation no one should have to endure, as they were. That once the Dark has you, you aren’t wholly in control of your actions. ” Master Altax waves that idea away like an annoying insect. “All of that is true but I made my decisions myself, by my own will.”

With a last glance at the text Altax lets his hand fall to his side. “Tir might have been the one I chased into darkness but no one made me follow him. His words won’t tempt me back onto that path, especially not these.”

_Face your demons, my friend. You can't outrun them._

“He left quite a curious message.” Especially attached to such a gruesome tale. “I wasn’t under the impression that Sith encouraged self-reflection.”

For some reason that makes Master Altax laugh in truth. His quiet mirth fills the holocron chamber with warmth. “You aren’t wrong. I dare say Tir found few things more vexing in a person than an unwillingness to stop lecturing him about introspection, if not for the reasons you imply.”

Master Gnost-Dural musses over that for a moment. Last they had spoken the master had more or less admitted to keeping the man’s secrets, even now. Immaterial information though it might be, Altax had once given this impression of himself to the safeguarding of the Jedi Order’s knowledge and still it held something back.

_‘Then again, he does keep our secrets too, doesn’t he?’_

“You seem quite fond of him.” It’s hard to reconcile the facets of information Gnost-Dural has uncovered. If the story holds as much truth as he suspects, if Master Shan was correct in her assessment…

Master Altax huffs, wryly. “I hated him. After I got into the crossfire of his revenge spree I hunted him for years, completely obsessed. I tore half the galaxy apart in my attempt to get my hands on his neck so I could wring it. There was a time both Jedi and Sith had standing orders to not engage the two of us for the sheer collateral damage we were prone to causing when we clashed.”

That is alarming, to say the least. “I thought he was your _friend_.”

A strange, wistful smile plays over Altax’ lips. Even with all his years of experience in reading humans Gnost-Dural can’t place the intricacies of it in the bare seconds he witnesses the expression. “I’m not sure I can explain our relationship in ways you would understand. Force knows I’ve had centuries to do the same with Chamma and he’s still mystified.”

That much was apparent. Gnost-Dural hums, thoughtful but dissatisfied. He may even admit to the faintest trace of petulance. “You could try.”

“I could.” Gnost-Dural meets his inquiring gaze squarely. He did not make the trek down here in the middle of the night to go to bed with more questions than he had when he arrived. Humor crinkles the old master’s eyes. “As you wish.”

Slowly, Altax folds his hands, the well-worn habit of a seasoned teacher settling in for a discussion. “I believe Tir was to me what the Sith call _ri wo diu an_ , and I to him. He was ’the one who challenged me’. My rival, if you will, though that is much to pale a word to put to it.”

“Is it?” Well, if nothing else Gnost-Dural will believe that the Sith have more words for an enemy than they have dinner forks for formal occasions.

“There is no better translation, I’m afraid.”

An not uncommon problem. Basic is a marvel of universal communication, easy to learn and even easier to apply to generalized concepts. To Master Gnost-Dural’s aggrieved experience the problem is the generalization involved. Nuances and cultural indicators are irretrievably lost. “I assume that this form of relationship is significant.”

“It is a deeply personal connection, despite the enmity involved. Perhaps even because of it.” Altax shakes his head lightly. “In hindsight our relationship was one of the strangest I ever had. I did not realize it at the time, I was quite too caught in my desire to end him horribly, but it was. From the moment we met, Tir… valued me. He enjoyed our battles. That only incensed me more, of course.”

“The Sith do have an unsettling craving for violence and dissent.” Master Gnost-Dural musses. He has thought on the topic enough lately and yet to find a satisfying string of reason behind that undeniable fact.

Altax nods slowly. “He certainly did. We very near murdered each other more times than I can count but I think,” he pauses for a long moment. When he continues his voice is quieter. “I think in his own way he loved me. Tir once told me an enemy is the only person in the galaxy who can truly _know_ you.”

His eyes fall to the data-pad stowed loosely in the pocket of Gnost-Dural’s robe. “I wonder how much truth there is in that sometimes. We shared so much, saw so much, together, of each other, that others were never privy to. Even now I struggle to put into words how it feels, to meet the eyes of one whom you would destroy yourself to kill over your crossed blades and know, without a doubt, that there are no secrets between you. That he _sees_ you and all that you are.”

Gnost-Dural can parse the difficulty he speaks of well enough. He feels as if he is grasping for an understanding just out of reach, a thread of logic and emotion caught in amber that he would need to touch to follow fully. Watching it affect Altax is a pale shadow.

“I am sure he would find this inability endlessly frustrating.” That strange smile lights the holo-guardian’s countenance again, not quite wistful. “Tir was a master of Dun Möch. He was capable of turning a person against themselves with nothing but words. I’ve rarely seen the like. And here I am, unable to express myself.”

Unease stirs in Gnost-Dural’s heart again, faint but undeniable. “You sound as if you admire him.”

Master Altax gives him a look he rather feels he doesn’t deserve. “I can appreciate skill. What it takes to gain mastery such as his, the clarity of focus, the will… Most Sith play at it but don’t have the fortitude to commit, to learn to _know_ people, intimately enough to do so at a glance, all their weaknesses and fault lines laid bare to you and all they are outside of that as well. Tir saw such _truth_ and he was so fearless in the face of it.”

Now it is Gnost-Dural’s turn to cross his arms in a physical emphasis of his disapproval. He is not unaware of how his closed off posture mirrors Bastila’s. “Truth is not something to be feared.”

“Spoken like a scholar.” A note of gentle amusement is threaded through the sentiment, though the sideways glance Altax favors him with is almost pitying. “There is darkness to be found in the galaxy and in its people, in our own hearts, that can be nigh impossible to accept.”

… he will concede that, much as he loathes to do so. By the muted laughter in Altax eyes he sees both his capitulation and his disgruntlement with the same. “You lose a discussion about as well as Tir did.”

“You cannot lose a discussion. It’s not a contest.” Master Gnost-Dural grumbles. “And I have my doubts. Sith do not concede with grace.”

“Rarely.” Altax is smiling openly now, which does take the sting out of the slightly uncomfortable turn their conversation has taken. It softens when his eyes fall to Gnost-Dural’s data pad again. “Like I said, I do not have the words to do what I felt and still feel for him justice. Perhaps it would help you understand to know that while Bastila is right and Tir’s actions did their part in felling me… he was the one to lay the path at my feet that led me back to the Light as well.”

The Force shivers with his confession. It layers over Gnost-Dural’s shoulders in a flutter of a soft-cool bid for attention, as it always does when it helps him focus. His next breath stutters in his rebreather.

Altax seems to be unaware of the significance of his own words. He keeps gazing fondly at a text he cannot even see, a rueful slant to his mouth. “I may have made my peace with the turns I took eventually but for the longest time… well. I refused to face what I did. I fled from my actions, what I had become and most of all why. I buried myself in my anger, in battle, in anything that would serve.” He sighs, deeply. Even the memory of what he speaks of seems to age him. “Tir insisted I could not, would never, match him fully until I knew myself. We were on a strange sort of speaking terms by then and one day, in one of his letters, he gifted me that poem.”

For a long moment Altax pauses, lost in thought, and Gnost-Dural, stilled by the gentle touch of the Force lets him gather himself. He can’t imagine a Fall is easy to speak of. The few Jedi he has witnessed losing themselves… what they became... and none ever returned. Not in his lifetime.

There is a great deal of doubt about whether it is possible at all. Master Braga argues, stridently, that the Sith can be brought into the Light and that that, in turn, proves their lost brethren can too but he is a rare voice. For a reason.

There are few to no records detailing how such a thing may be possible, much less how if it is.

Altax continues, voice soft. “I couldn’t read it in full. I struggled through it for months. I have no idea how many recording devices I destroyed, blinded by the images he invoked in me and the memories he woke. He reminded me of what I once was when all I wished was to forget it.”

“Why would he do that?” Gnost-Dural is unaware he is speaking until he recognizes his own voice. Apparently not even the Force can keep his curiosity down for long. “Why would he give you the tools you needed to save yourself?”

The far-away look in Altax eyes recedes somewhat. “I can only speculate.” He may have just cost himself the chance to learn what he should have, here, and Gnost-Dural is quietly cursing himself when the master continues, “But is that what he did?”

“Isn’t it?” It certainly is the effect the Sith’s actions seem to have had but then effect and intention are not always the same. “You did say he knew you well.”

“He did.” Altax strokes his beard thoughtfully. “And in that poem he gave me pieces of myself, shards sharp enough to cut. My return to the Light was no easier than my Fall, I assure you.”

Gnost-Dural tries to parse that fully. “So, you think he did it to hurt you?” he says hesitantly.

A small smile tugs at Altax lips, more impression than anything else. “No. I think he did it to _free_ me, from my own lies and obfuscation. I think he wanted me to see myself as he did, fully.” He drums his fingers on his own arm, slowly. “And I think he was convinced that that freedom would make me stronger.”

“The Sith maxim.” Gnost-Dural knows it well enough to recognize it even in the abstract. What an irony for that to be the underlying factor in this series of events. “But instead of granting you power, he gave you the chance to find yourself again.”

Altax chuckles. “Must it be one or the other?” He looks at Gnost-Dural, shoulders straight, serenity in his eyes and in that moment he is no longer the unremarkable master fading into the background between Bastila Shan and Master Chamma. He is but an image left behind but Gnost-Dural can trace the core of steel behind his amiable gaze, the immovable strength of a true master of their Order, rooted in the Light. “Tir did get his wish. With my clarity of mind and purpose returned to me, after I made my peace with myself, I was finally able to best him. In our last match I wrung the victory from him I had sworn I would, so many years ago, and put an end to our struggle.”

The wistfulness in his tone is undeniable. Gnost-Dural still can’t claim he understands but the intensity of their connection has become more than clear to him at least. Which begs the question, “Did you…” He hesitates to ask but Master Altax takes his meaning.

“No. I didn’t kill him.” The denial gives Gnost-Dural a measure of relief, that is as much his own as it is intuition, guided by the Force. Little good ever comes from spilling blood and the blood of one that holds such sway over you, even if the nature of it isn't one he himself can imagine feeling. “But I knew even then that I would return to the Temple and accept whatever judgement the Council may have seen fit to impart upon me. What we shared was about to come to an end. In accordance to what I had offered him when we met I left him his life for the oath that he, too, would leave his part in the war behind."

Altax takes the time to think on his next words, leaves them unsaid. Gnost-Dural hears them anyway. The Force whispers them in his ear but not in the voice of the one he is conversing with. It's a strong one, regretful, laced with a touch of pain and a quiet joy, steeped in loss. ' _I'll honor our promise. There will be nothing left for me to seek out here anyway, will there? Goodbye, my friend.'_

"We parted ways and he was never seen again. I’m not sure what became of him. May I?”

Master Gnost-Dural activates his data-pad obligingly. The poem and its dedication are still displayed prominently but it feels different to look at them with more context. Context is always key. He had expected as much.

Altax looks over the lines with a longing fondness he thinks he can understand a little better now, if not fully. “I dare say the archivist missed a few implications. Force but Tir always had such a terrible sense of humor.”

His muted mirth is infectious. Gnost-Dural raises a wry eye-ridge. “Oh?”

“Well, for one he literally signed it ‘Wolf’, never mind that that was his name. I have no idea how that got lost in translation.”

Gnost-Dural may have a few questions about that himself. “He called himself _wolf_?”

“Quite.” Altax chuckles faintly. “Tir’Azule, the ‘Ravenous Wolf’.”

“… that’s quite a mouthful.” He attempts neutrality. Unsuccessfully.

Master Altax smile widens. “He was Sith. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard worse. Their taste hardly got any better with time.”

True enough. “I will never understand their preoccupation with overly dramatic designations.”

“Don’t look to me for an explanation for _that_ , my friend. I’m quite at a loss myself and so is our entire collection.”

That is the note their conversation ends on. Master Altax excuses himself soon after when it becomes clear there is little more to discuss. Gnost-Dural can’t say he regrets it. He has much to think on, as always when he has spent some time with the Noetikon of Secrets.

Tonight, at least, his thoughts are more bent toward fanciful stories, the nature of truth and help received from unlikely hands.

‘He wanted me to be free,’ Altax had said, without an ounce of doubt, and Gnost-Dural wonders if he was right. If his rival, his friend, whatever they were to each other, wanted him unburdened by the chains of his own making that were dragging him down.

‘ _Either way, he managed what we are struggling to do, whatever he intended._ ’ Tir gave a fallen Jedi the means to find their way back. It is no little thing. Gnost-Dural pushes the large doors of the Grand Archive open before him, suppresses a wince at glimpsing dawns first rays in the hallway, and sighs. He lets his regrets go before they have fully formed.

Another sleepless night. Oh well. There might be something to be learned here, something important. He has never shied away from what that takes. A little lost sleep is a small price.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I wasn't kidding about the poetry. You have no idea how I have suffered. It's pretty amazing now, if I do say so myself, but FUCK.  
> I was thinking about Schiller's 'The Pledge' the whole fucking while I was rhyming and I'm not sure why I still remember that damned thing from classes but it rocked. And I can do it too Schiller :P Just fucking watch me.
> 
> Something about the poem that didn't quite make it into the story: The shores of Azul denote Hunger, the edge of unrestrained desire. Quite poetic really, and part of the underlying metaphor.  
> Not all rhymes turned out flawless but fuck it. I will put that down under poetic license. I really like how the rythm worked out, at any rate.  
> That said, there are a few places where the rhyming scheme has a gap and those are on purpose: the wolf is the one who breaks it first and the only other person that does it is the knight, toward the end.  
> It's symbolic of what he is facing and what he is becoming: an agent of chaos and destruction, breaking with the conventions that govern the world they share. Really, you could say the wolf _chooses_ to follow the scheme. He could leave it behind at any time and he adheres to it for the most part because it amuses him. The knight on the other hand breaks the rhyme unintentionally, in moments of great emotional upheaval and doesn't realize what he is doing.  
> I hope you enjoyed my work! (... poems are hard.) 
> 
> It is 4am and I did not go to bed when I told myself I would but this has been totally worth it. XD


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